


Roses And Jasmine

by Loligo



Category: Swordspoint Series - Ellen Kushner
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-18
Updated: 2006-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1638968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loligo/pseuds/Loligo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard St Vier doesn't do weddings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses And Jasmine

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays to Strange Pup, who likes light-hearted smut and minor character backstory *g*. Many thanks to Raya for the beta. The characters and setting herein are borrowed from the works of Ellen Kushner.
> 
> Written for Strange Pup

 

 

Richard tugged at the garland of fading roses that hung on his shoulders. "I don't know how I let you talk me into this," he murmured to Thomas Berowne as they ducked under the jasmine bower. "I don't know _why_ you talked me into this. You don't even seem to like your cousin much."

"She's horrid, isn't she?" Thomas agreed.

"Then why am I done up like a prize bull at Spring Festival? Here, you wear the decorations." Richard draped the roses around the other man's neck and studied him a moment. "They suit you."

"Oh, they're much better on you," Thomas said, his fingers drifting over the wilting petals. Most of the opulent bouquets gracing the wedding of Melisande Berowne to Felix Galing had been purchased at the Flower Market, where peasant women from the south dressed in bright cottons and lace headscarves, rural charm calculated to coax the city-dwellers into buying more blooms. The roses, though, came from the Berownes' own gardens. "There's something about the contrast, the curve of the rose against the lines and planes of the body -- and the way the petals are so like skin and yet so different... it's, well, it's hard to explain..." he trailed off, and not even the ruddy light of sunset could disguise his blush.

Richard laughed in disbelief and touched Thomas's heated face. "You just wanted to see me wearing roses!" He pressed closer to the other man, and from the roses trapped between their chests came a wave of fragrance. "You could have asked. We could have had roses without the ceremonial procession and the droning service and the drunken toasts at the feast." He dipped in for a kiss.

"You exaggerate. They haven't even gotten to the toasts yet, and here we are, alone in the garden and quite comfortable." He kissed back, tangling his fingers in Richard's hair. "But your point is taken." He laughed softly.

"I am never doing another wedding."

"I certainly won't ask it."

"So tell me more about roses," Richard said. As he bent his head to Thomas's neck, the odors were dizzying: the jasmine above them sweet and sharp, the roses between them warm and deep, and as his lips reached skin, the traces of the scent Thomas always wore -- roses again, and musk, and myrrh.

Thomas was almost coherent, given the distractions. "The roses we're wearing are Maiden's Blush... popular for weddings, for the obvious reason... Its parents are Autumn Damask... and the common dog rose." Then he gasped as Richard began to nip, and carried on in a husky voice: "In Chartil they call it The Seductress... and I'll wager they don't wear it for weddings!" He pulled Richard up and they kissed with fervor.

They clasped each other closer, their limbs twining like vines on a trellis. Hands began to fumble with clasps and buttons, but before their clothing became too disarranged, Thomas called a halt. "Wait... Richard." He fit in a few more rough kisses before continuing. "Since our acquaintance began, we've done this in a variety of interesting places throughout the city --"

"And out of it," Richard added with a sly smile.

"Yes, and I can think of a few things I'm _never_ doing in a moving coach again, but as I was saying... many inventive locations, but never in my own bed. Every member of my large and intrusive family will be here at the Galings' for hours yet. Come home with me."

"You're a romantic," Richard said with some fondness.

"I know. It's terribly unfashionable." Thomas settled the garland over Richard's shoulders again and grinned. They left the garden.

*@*

Richard followed Thomas past the stable and the carriage house and into the kitchen, where they collected a bottle of wine and lit a lamp.

"No servants?"

"After what Mother and Aunt Lucinda put them through this week, most of them have been given a well-deserved evening off. I'm sure Fremont is around here someplace, though. I think the housekeeper just props him up in a closet at night."

They passed into a wood-paneled hall and went up a noiseless staircase muffled with a runner of bright new wool. Thomas opened a door, then said, "Look, Richard, you're trailing roses." He stooped to gather whole flowers that had dropped unnoticed from the wilting garland, and so it was Richard who first saw the woman in Thomas's room.

She was dressed in dark and modest clothes and was tugging at the latch of the casement. A servant girl airing out the room, he thought, until she turned from the still-shut window and he saw her face. Her eyes blazed bitter and fierce, then he saw a shock of recognition in them before she tumbled fluidly over the bed and ducked into the wardrobe.

 _Jessamyn_. The darling of half of Riverside, and damned by the other half. A thief and a beauty, with a knife-hand as swift as a snake. Even her enemies wouldn't thank him for turning her in -- Riversiders were loyal to each other, at least until large amounts of coin were applied.

Richard entered the room with Thomas at his back. He crossed to the window and made a show of studying the clear, twilit sky. Thomas rested his hands on Richard's hips, molded himself to Richard's back. He trailed a line of gentle, precise bites down the side of Richard's neck, then retraced the line with greater force.

Richard turned and embraced him. Looking past Thomas, he saw that the door of the wardrobe was slightly ajar. Jessamyn would be watching. Richard suspected that she would wait until Thomas was well and truly distracted before she made her escape. He felt an unexpected shiver of pleasure at the thought.

Thomas stepped back, as if to draw Richard toward the bed. "Wait," Richard said, and began to peel away the elaborate layers of Thomas's clothing. He always found a strange delight in undressing his noble lovers. In their finery they were alien, fantastical, imprisoned by luxury; stripping them felt like breaking a spell and turning them human again. Thomas sighed as his shirt fell away.

He began a motion toward the bed again, and Richard drew him closer once more. Thomas laughed and gestured behind him. "This is a bed, Richard. I've never seen you in one, so I can't be sure you are acquainted with the concept. You lie down on them. They're pleasantly soft."

"There will be time for that later." Richard smiled and unbuckled his sword belt.

Thomas snorted, taking the hint. He took off the rose garland and flung it behind him onto the bed, petals spilling over the brocade coverlet. Richard set his sword carefully aside, and Thomas began to unfasten Richard's breeches.

Richard relaxed against the wall. He stared at the wardrobe door as Thomas knelt before him. Did he only imagine the glint of an eye in the crack between door and frame? He licked his lips.

Thomas licked his lips as well, and set to work. Richard's fingers skimmed through Thomas's golden hair and over his fine, pale skin. Heat rose through him in waves. His gaze drifted back and forth, back and forth, between Thomas and the unseen watching woman. He thought of how he must look to her; it made him shudder and nearly close his eyes.

He was breathing heavily, raggedly, now, and so was Thomas as he moved. Jessamyn emerged. She slid to the door like a shadow. She paused a moment on the threshold and he saw narrowed eyes and a feral grin before she disappeared. His vigil over, he closed his eyes, and let sound and touch overwhelm him.

*@*

The pleasantly soft bed was eventually put to good use; afterwards the two men lay comfortably sprawled on the cool sheets. But when Richard heard the sounds of servants preparing the house for the family's return, he arose and dressed, brushing an errant rose petal from his hair.

Thomas took a ring from a rosewood box: "A token," Thomas told him when Richard was ready. "Just a little memento of your last wedding." It was a gold band with a rose inlaid in red. Richard laughed and kissed him in thanks, and took his leave.

Berowne was handsome and kind-hearted, and Richard had no regrets about the time they'd spent together. But the Hill was not his world; where _he_ lived, life and death were vivid and knife-edged and desires went undisguised. He could wish that he were made for stillness and softness, for the safety of wealth that blunts all challenges -- but what good would that do? He made his way to the crooked streets of Riverside, to a dark and crowded tavern where a fearless woman was regaling the room with the stories of her adventures that night.

He was done now with the one who'd given the ring: he wanted the one who'd almost taken it.

Finis

 


End file.
